I want my Fairytale
by Luci-Marlena
Summary: I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s fine when it’s not. Both of us have changed. It’s not that change is a bad thing; it’s just that we’re not changing at the same pace. Classic triangle Leah/Jake/Nessie
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All of the characters, concepts, and anything affiliated with the _Twilight_ saga belong to (their rightful owner) Stephanie Meyer. The rest of the work belongs to me and should not be copied in any way, including translations, without my explicit consent.

Major thanks to Flyaway Dove for Beta-ing this.

Set: Sometime after BD.

**Leah POV**

* * *

_I want my Fairytale_

I'm sorry.

I just can't do this anymore. I can't keep pretending that everything's fine when it's not. Both of us have changed. It's not that change is a bad thing; it's just that we're not changing at the same pace.

You're behind me. I'm sorry, but it's true. It's because you're waiting for her to catch up with you. So I wait for you to catch up to me. When I do, I always seem to wait too long and fall behind. And instead of knowing instinctually where to go, to follow you for every turn and every stop, I'm lost. I'm running to try and catch up, but you're so far ahead of me that you can't hear me calling out to you for help.

I keep moving forward, knowing that I have to reach you at some point. I move forward and wander ahead, trying to find some twist in the road that will bring us back, trying to use our connection to guide me back to you.

It doesn't. I don't think we have a connection anymore. It's changed.

Finally, I come to a stop. A fork in the road: do I go right, or left? Did you go right, or was it left? Did you even make it here at all? I don't know. I just don't know anymore. I used to know. I used to know a lot of things about you.

Now I don't know anything. There's no internal map connecting us together telling me where to turn, where to stand, when to stay put, nothing.

So I sit and wait. I just stop and wait for you, as always.

It seems like all I ever do is wait. I wait for you, for us, for _her._ Always waiting.

It would be best if I just left.

For both of us. You'd be free, and so would I. You could explore all the places that you and SHE have wanted to go, and I could… well, I could do _something. _

What I'm trying to say is that I need to leave. You're not the same person you were two years ago.

You're responsibilities have changed.

Priorities altered.

_Again._

I understand, I do. Mine have changed as well. I now have more to worry about, more to work for, more to want. I have a life to live… on my own… without you.

It's not that I want to forget you, (who could), or that I don't love you, because I do. So much. I'm just too tired.

I'm so tired of having to plaster a fake smile on my face every time I see you two together just to make you happy. I'm not happy anymore. I was, once upon a time when the beautiful princess left the evil witch and warlock's castle and came to live with the true prince of the land.

Well, that's where is should have ended. But there was no happily ever after.

There was no magical ending where the prince and the princess ruled the kingdom together. No. The prince was obligated to follow another, lesser princess and had to abandon the princess he had learned to love. He broke the princess' heart and left with his new princess, his "true love." The princess got the raw end of the deal. It's not like she wasn't used to it, being abandoned. It's happened before, she survived it. She just never thought that the prince wouldn't fight and break the chains that tie him to his new princess.

But he can't, because the prince is just a character in a fairytale. Life isn't like a fairytale. No matter how close our lives are to the stories and make-believe, there are no do-overs. There are no rewinds or take-backs. All we have is harsh reality; a reality that likes to sneak up on us and bite us in the ass.

Watching you two, how you were practically raping each other with your eyes, was a giant bite in the ass courtesy of Reality.

So, I'm bowing out. I'm taking it as my cue to leave, to say goodbye, (because this clearly isn't our story anymore).

I'm not leaving because I'm jealous, or hurt, or bitter, or angry, or upset, because I'm not. And I'm not just saying that. You're in love and I'm happy for you. You deserve to be happy, to be loved. Just like I do.

Which is why you'll let me go.

You'll go off into your own fairytale, accompanied by a new princess to begin a new tale, and I'll try to start where I left off. With the lonely princess who's looking for the right prince to stay with her for eternity.

Besides, I've always wanted to go back home. I forgot what the La Push summers were like.

So, I guess this is goodbye. Some form of closure to this chapter of my life. This time, our stories won't cross. We'll just be two different people in two different tales.

Go live your fairytale, and I'll live mine.

Your Beta,

Leah.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** All of the characters, concepts, and anything affiliated with the _Twilight_ saga belong to (their rightful owner) Stephanie Meyer. The rest of the work belongs to me and should not be copied in any way, including translations, without my explicit consent.

Major thanks to Flyaway Dove for Beta-ing this.

Set: Sometime after BD.

**Leah POV**

_Progress for a Fairytale Ending_

You know that mysterious, vague, unfinished, "ride off into the sunset" patented Disney-family-approved endings that all fairytales have?

Well, I'm getting mine.

That's right, Leah Clearwater is on her way to get her very own "happily ever after."

How, you may ask?

Jack.

His name is Jack.

He's the man who's fixing me.

Putting me back together.

Making me feel like I used to: whole.

Don't get me wrong, I don't love him. Not _yet_, at least.

Not for a long time.

But he knows that.

He accepts that and he's patient.

Besides, I really, really like him. He's different from all the guys on the rez, from you. But sometimes, late at night when all of the forbidden thoughts of you, of us, creep back into my head, I start to fall backwards.

I start to think about all of the "what ifs." What if we went away before you imprinted? What if you never locked eyes with her? What if she wasn't the girl you were supposed to be with? What if you never left? What if I never left? What if you left her? What if you came back to me?

All these questions roll around in my head, creating scenarios that can never come true. You and I together, somewhere sunny, holding hands, laughing, smiling. Standing up at the altar together, saying our vows. Sitting on the couch, snuggled up against one another, watching some movie to which neither of us are really paying attention. Fighting over paint colors for rooms in our house. Talking about the possibility of a family together. Having a family together.

Each scenario becomes its own little fairytale; a happy ending for a story that was never meant to be.

Then I wake up. I'm brought back to the present, to my life with Jack. And it's a good life.

He takes care of me, loves me, and puts up with all my mood swings and anger issues. I trust him.

I haven't told him about our furry little secret, but I might.

One day.

If the time is right.

If he stays.

I don't know how it happened, but it did. I was on my way back from British Columbia, waiting for my flight (my ticket generously funded-as well as my generously large bank account-by a certain blonde leech of a beauty queen) when I saw him. He was sitting across from me in the waiting area on one of those uncomfortable chairs, typing away, periodically pausing and staring off into the distance before inspiration struck again and he continued to type furiously.

I must have stared at him for a while, having been annoyed by the sound of his fingers slapping away at the keys only to stop for a minute before returning with greater enthusiasm.

To put it simply, I was pissed.

I had a headache from running to catch my flight in the rain, and being stuck behind this large woman who obviously did not know that tights are not for everyone, (and nor are leather pants), who insisted on yelling at the idiot behind the ticket desk for twenty minutes. During one of his typing lulls, I glared at him. I know, typical me, but hey, a leopard can't change her spots.

I did that for a while before his eyes locked with mine. That's when everything changed.

I didn't imprint.

I don't think I'll ever imprint.

But this was better.

This was way better.

He rolled his eyes at me.

He didn't smile, come over to flirt, wave me over to come talk to him, or anything cheesy like that. No, he rolled his eyes at me before asking, "Is there a problem?"

I remember staring at him slack-jawed before hissing at him that, yes, there was, in fact, a problem and that he should learn how to type without smashing the keys on his laptop every time he feels the need to type something. Well, seeing as I was just so polite, he glared at me, muttered something about annoying broads in airports, shut his laptop, grabbed his bag, and moved to another row of seats far away from me while we waited to board our plane.

Forty-five minutes later, guess who was sitting next to me? That's right. Mr. 36 A was none other than Jack I-smash-the-keys-whenever-I-type Torrance.

Yeah, I know, just my luck.

After a shaky take-off and a complimentary drink later, our plane got caught in a bit of turbulence. Scratch that, we were in ten minutes worth of turbulence. I was shitting my pants. It was my first time in a stupid flying tin can and the shaking and bumping made me less than optimistic about flying. Especially when the overhead compartments burst open and everyone's carry-on luggage comes flying out.

Needless to say, I am never flying ever again.

So, Jack tried to calm me down, which was difficult when one is used to being as pessimistic as possible, and talked me through it. After the turbulence, we actually talked. I found out what he was typing so furiously about.

Divorce.

His best friend slept with his wife.

His best friend's name is Jennifer.

Go figure.

So we talked. A lot. I found out that he's a writer of mostly novellas and series of short stories. I also found out why he was smashing the keys on his laptop in the waiting room: he'd been emailing his lawyer and sorting out who gets what in the settlement.

When I asked him what got him so worked up he told me that Mary, (ironic I know), was trying to take everything he owned after doing absolutely zero work for the five years they were married. I think, "Wicked leech is trying to suck me dry of everything I have," was his exact quote.

Anyways, we talked. He told me he was going to be living in his cabin a little ways outside of La Push. As the plane landed he coached me from having a panic attack as I felt the wheels skid on the tarmac.

We got off the stupid tin can, got our bags, made it through customs, and made plans to meet up for coffee in a week or two.

A week later, we had coffee. Same as the week after that, and the week after that, and the week after that.

We got along.

We figured that out really quick.

After a couple weeks of coffee and lunch dates, we went out on a real date. It was nice. And by nice I mean a total disaster.

It rained. Now usually that wouldn't be a big problem, seeing as it rains here all the time, but that specific day, Jack decided that it would be nice if we had a picnic. In the middle of the forest, a mile hike away from his cabin.

It poured right in the middle of our peanut butter and Nutella sandwiches, making them soggy.

Apparently, Jack doesn't find soggy sandwiches as hilarious as I do.

I thought that our first date went great seeing as it wasn't like any other date I'd been on before. With Sam it was all planned to the tee. Nothing ever went out of schedule and it was all very… average. Dinner and a movie, long walks on First Beach, that sort of stuff.

With you, it was always unpredictable. We'd hang out at your place, watch a movie, pig out on the couch, go cliff diving, race, normal stuff. It was nice, comfortable. Freeing.

With Jack, it's like the best of both worlds. He likes to be able to take me out and show me a good time like Sam, but he's also like you. Jack likes to just curl up on the couch together and watch a movie, or just lay out on the front lawn and stare at the clouds. It's refreshing.

He's different. He reminds me so much of you and Sam that it takes a while to get used to, but… I don't know… there's just something _different_ about him. Something better. Something human. Something that tells me that he won't bolt and run after the first pair of legs in a mini skirt who says "Hello".

We're… we're courting.

He's courting me just like Prince Charming was always supposed to.

It's nice.

God, I don't even know why I'm writing you. I don't even know where you and _she_ are. I'm sure Rose would tell me, but…

Let's face it, even if I knew where you were, I wouldn't send this letter anyways.

I miss you.

I'm better: I don't wake up crying or whimpering your name, wondering when you'll come back for me (which you won't and I'm fine with that), but I still miss you. It's hard to just let go of one's fairytale ending. No matter how unattainable it now is.

What I'm saying is, don't worry. I'm fine.

It's been about four months and I'm doing better.

I'm making progress.

I'm starting over.

Jack's helping.

I hope you're well. I hope I actually send this letter.

Miss you like mad,

Lee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** All of the characters, concepts, and anything affiliated with the _Twilight_ saga belong to (their rightful owner) Stephanie Meyer. The rest of the work belongs to me and should not be copied in any way, including translations, without my explicit consent.

Major thanks to Flyaway Dove for Beta-ing this.

Set: Sometime after BD.

**Leah POV**

_Riding off into the Sunset_

Three hundred and thirty–seven.

It's been nearly a year since I've seen you; a full three hundred and thirty-seven days.

A lot has changed.

Jack proposed.

Yeah, he popped the question. He wasn't dramatic, or romantic, or anything extreme like that. We were sitting at the dinner table, (he cooked), and he had just set down the meatloaf and salad on the table. While I was busy making my plate, Jack just sat there staring at me with this smile on his face.

After staring at me shovel food in my mouth, Jack cleared his throat and just point blank asked me, "Lee, wanna get married?"

I coughed and choked on my meatloaf, which was to die for by the way, and had to drink some water before I was able to answer him. "You're kidding."

He shook his head. "Nope, I'm really asking you. I don't have a ring, or a speech, or anything else that those idiots in the romantic comedies have, but I just know. Just sitting here with you, stuffing your face at dinner, not a care in the world on how you look, unlike some of the Barbies in the world who eat rabbit food and have to touch up their makeup every five minutes because, god forbid, someone would see their actual face. You're just you. You're Lee. My Lee. Well, at least I hope you'll be my Lee."

All throughout his speech, instead of thinking about how I could start a life with Jack, or how I feel about him, all I could think about was you. As soon as I met Jack's gaze, all my instincts were telling me that it was the wrong place to be thinking of you. It's the wrong time; it's too late.

I told him yes. Not because he pressured me, not because I felt obligated, but because he makes me happy. It's been a little less than a year with him, but he makes me laugh and smile and generally feel good. Plus, I can see flashes of us together in the future. I can see us going out to celebrate our anniversary, yelling and screaming at each other because of some stupid argument like what color we should paint the bathroom, and kids.

I know that they might not be a realistic possibility for me, but I can see a little boy, tiny little thing, just running around like a little Jack replica. Of course he'd have my temper and absolutely no patience whatsoever, but he would be ours.

When I told him yes, I could see a future with us.

And I continue to.

But then, last night, I had a dream about you.

You and me.

Together.

And I enjoyed it.

It was our wedding, the wedding that Jack and I were going to plan; only Jack wasn't standing at the end of the aisle waiting for me. You were. You were in an old, shabby tux, and I was in this ratty, white dress, and we were both stuck in La Push's shabby little church, waiting to get married.

We looked horrible, but happy.

I walked down the aisle, practically ran over to you, and we were wed.

I was Leah Black.

Not Leah Clearwater.

Not Leah Torrance.

Leah Black.

When I woke up the next day, I felt guilty. This is not what I do. I don't promise myself to be one man's wife and then wish to be with another.

But the sick thing is, I felt like I was cheating on _you._

I didn't feel like I was betraying Jack, but betraying you.

When he proposed, I felt like I had to choose between you, or at least the idea of you, and him.

It reminded me of those moments in the movies where the princess has to make a big choice. You know the one: the choice at the beginning of the story that will affect the rest of her journey. Mine wasn't if I should uphold my family honor and fight in a war instead of my father or stay at home and try to get married; I had to choose between you and him.

And seeing as you're not here and you have an imprint, I chose Jack.

He loves me, takes care of me, and is an amazing guy.

And I almost love him.

Almost.

It will take some time, but I really do care about him.

And it's not fair how I can't love him, and that's because of you. I'm still holding on to you. If I don't let go, then I'll never be able to move on. I'll never be able to love again, which I want to do. So badly. And I can't think of anyone more deserving of my love than Jack.

So, I'm saying goodbye. This is my last letter to you.

After this, I'm going to pack up all the other letters I wrote to you, put them in a box, and burn them… or bury them somewhere.

The point is, I'm going to try and forget you.

I need to move on and try and piece myself back together again.

Jack's helped me, but there's a small part of me that's just holding to this tiny hope that one day, you'll leave her and come back to me.

You won't, I know that.

So I'm saying goodbye, and letting you go.

And once you're gone, there will be no more excuses, no more ideas or fantasies holding me back from opening up and letting Jack in completely.

I want my own future. My own little happy ending in which I can be happy and loved.

My own little 'ride off into the sunset' moment.

Call me selfish, but I think that after all the crap life served me I deserve it.

I love you.

Goodbye,

Lee.


End file.
